


Sound The Death Knell

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Always-A-Girl Harry, Dumbledore's In Trouble, End Game pairings are End Game, F/F, F/M, Fake Prophecy, Female Harry Potter, Soul Bond, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-03-12 07:30:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3348758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Avada Kedavra'.<br/>A six year old Hariel Potter traces the strange marks on her skin, wondering at the meaning of the words her soulmate will speak.<br/>An eleven year old Hariel Potter is appropriately horrified when she puts the pieces together. </p><p>For the first eleven years of his life, Tom Marvolo Riddle, couldn't make heads or tails of his markings. He's even more confused when the Chamber of Secrets Incident of '43 fails to bring 'Tom? Tom, we have to go, there's a Basilisk,' to him.</p><p>It's not until a little black book makes its way back to Hogwarts that everything falls into place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hariel's Awakening

 ' _Avada Kedarva_ '.

At the tender age of six years, Hariel Potter was mentally capable of wrapping her mind around several concepts. The idea of having to work for her relatives, her Aunt, Uncle and cousin was one of relative simplicity. Her name, Hariel Lillian Potter; an even more uncomplicated notion. But the words that marked her skin, words that marked everyone's skin, were what she found herself thinking more and more upon these days. The words had appeared on her sixth birthday, as they did with every other child of the human race. Dudley had gotten his a month prior, and Aunt Petunia had sung the bulbous boy praises, sprouting how she knew her Dudley was going to be destined for the most beautiful, perfect soulmate in the world.

The look she's given Hariel after she's voice these thoughts clearly showed her aunt most certainly did not consider her worthy of such a thing. That perhaps Hariel Lillian Potter did not deserve a soul mate.

As a result, the fire in her tiny chest, hidden behind the relative safety of her small rib cage, only burned brighter, flared hotter with desire for her own words to appear. To see the words of her soul mate printed across her skin.

She prayed her future match would have elegant handwriting, that he or she would speak meaningful words upon their meeting.

Nothing like ' _A pint of bitter for me_ ' that wrapped around Petunia's wrist, from her days working a bar job as a young student. A job that saw her meet her soulmate, Vernon Dursley. Aunt Petunia wore it like a bracelet, but all Hariel could ever see were the black links of a shackle, tying her aunt forever to Vernon's rounded form.

Dudley's was somewhat more pleasant, both in placement and the words them self. Scrawled across his left collarbone, in looping, overly girly writing were the words ' _Is this the Armitage Ward?_ '. Petunia was of the opinion Dudley's match would come about in a hospital, deluding herself into the idea that her little Dudders would become a doctor in the future. Hariel, who'd seen the so called 'Dr Dursley' attempting to preform a lobotomy with nought but a crayon and his own nasal passageway, was more of the opinion Dudley would be bumping into her as a visitor. Probably regarding Uncle Vernon's impending heart problems. There was no way the man wouldn't end up in hospital considering his daily intake.

But Hariel didn't care too much to ponder upon Dudley's words right now, not when her own were currently etched so prettily across her skin.

In a flowing, dark green script were two words, both completely foreign to her. ' _Avada Kedarva_ '.

Tracing her fingers over the markings that'd appeared on the inner wrist of her left arm, running halfway down the forearm and coming to a stop just before her curve of her palm began, the dark haired child frowned. Such strange words.

Was her soul mate of a different country? Would she travel to meet him, or would he be visiting her homeland? She was sure her soul mate was male, something in her stomach called out an certified this fact. The handwriting on her limb seemed to support her theory. While it was clearly very well defined, precise and sharp script, there was something about the letters that belayed the fact their writer was male, Hariel wasn't sure how she knew, she just did. They were gorgeous words though, and she would be looking into them the second she could. But first...

Picking up the bandages that were resting upon the small shelf of her humble abode, Hariel began to methodically wrap them tightly around her forearm. Soul markings were to be shared only with family, never to be shown to another until the words had been spoken. Her Aunt had made it awfully clear she couldn't possibly careless when it came to Hariel's markings.

And Hariel was more than happy to share that train of thought.

She didn't want to share her words. Not with her aunt, not with anyone. They were her's and her's alone. These markings on her arm, those two little words were her certainty that there was in fact someone out there for her. Not for anyone else, but for her. This person, whoever they may be, had her syntax, wore in across their skin as she did their's. She was tied to another person in this world, and nothing her family could say would ever lead her to doubt that now.

She dreamed of an impressive soul mate, so she was going to damn well make sure that whatever she expected of her significant other, Hariel Lillian Potter was going to be just as impressive.

 

.

 

It was at the age of eleven that Hariel Lillian Potter's world came crashing down.

"C-can you repeat that?"

Hagrid, the giant of a man who'd knocked down the worn wooden oak that'd once been the door of a shack in the sea, frowned behind his wild hair and beard combo that looked more of a curly, messy mane than anything else. The beedle black eyes blinked slowly, brow furrowing.

"S'not summat ya should be askin' 'bout 'Arry."Her nickname, Harry. According to Hagrid, that was what her parents had called her, even though Hariel was only a sole syllable longer. That didn't matter to her though, if Harry was what her parents had referred to her as, then from this moment on Harry she would be.

"Why not? If this attack can kill me with one hit, I'd like to know the name of the spell I'm dodging." Hariel had known of magic, had felt this pulsating power coursing through her body all her life.

There had only been one time she'd used it against another though. While she'd practised levitating things before, changing the thin jacket she's been given into a thick, waterproof coat, there had only been one time she'd ever really hurt someone. Aunt Petunia had tried to take her to a cosmetic surgery, one that specialised in removing soul marks. Usually it was for those who's soulmate hadn't lived up to expectations, those who's other were already married, or jailed. Those who didn't want a soulmate.

Hariel had made her aunt hurt for daring to try and take away her words. The Dursleys hadn't really bothered her again after that, far too fearful of the unnatural wrath that would rain down upon them should they do so.

"Right, well, listen carefully 'cause I'll only be saying it once. Ta killing curse is Avada Kedavra."

 

And just like that Hariel's perceived future went up in flames.


	2. Tom's Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceived circumstances are created but results fail to appear.

The life of an orphan was hard. Not on the body, not at all, they suffered no more than any other working class child in regards to physical health.

No, it was the mind that took the most damage when it came to being raised in an orphanage. Nothing was certain when it came to the life of an orphan, little to no stability could be found in such conditions.

However, there was only thing that every orphan aged six or above could say with absolute confidence. They had a soulmate. They carried markings, words crudely scrawled across their body that offered them one surety. That they would all have a chance at happiness someday.

Tom Marvolo Riddle did not believe in soul markings.

The idea that he had no choice when it came to the one human being he was supposedly able to stand, that his future was in anyway predetermined, left him with a nauseous twist in his stomach and a frosted ice coating the rest of his innards. He refused to be controlled, for he was better than all the others who shuffled about around him.

Power ran through his veins, sang as it coiled through his body with all the grace of a smooth stalking predator. He was in no way like the masses, who tripped over themselves for a chance to find the one person who would make everything okay.

An illusion, one that tore away at a person's reasoning and twisted their perspective until one being to think in terms of 'we' instead of 'I'. Personal survival was lost in a tangled mess that was the soulmate relations.

He would not fall into this trap.

He was better than them, than all of them. Yet that still didn't explain that when Tom woke up on the sunrise of December 31st 1932, the arctic morning air was forced from his lungs at the twisting words that ran along the edge of his ribs.

Words, a sentence, curved gracefully along the lowest bone of his rib cage upon the right hand side. The words though, we're different. He should have expected no less, considering that he was so much more than those he was forcibly surrounded by. Wrote in a dulled silver and flecked with a light dusting of gold, were the words he would supposedly hear from his soulmate. The appearance of the syntax was gorgeous, even if the penmanship could use a little work. However...

They just didn't make sense.

' _Tom? Tom, we have to go, there's a Basilisk_ ' So his soulmate would know of him when they speak for the first time, that much he could deduce.

But a basilisk? He's never heard of it before.

Which meant there was a hole in his knowledge, a hole he desperately needed to fill, as it would clearly come in useful in the future regardless of his opinion on the whole soulmate situation.

And with that, Tom got to work.

 

.

 

He didn't understand.

The Basilisk had been right there, terrorising the school. And he'd waited, waited for the pin to drop, for the one person he'd built so much hope and curiosity up for to gather the information, to realise what was happening and come find him. But the weeks had dragged on by, a student had died and suddenly the school was being threatened.

While Tom may have cared to find out his soulmate, a begrudging curiosity to see what the world was throwing at his feet, he cared more for Hogwarts. Cared more when it came to avoiding Wool's.

So when he closed the Chamber of Secerts, it wasn't the only thing to be sealed that day.

The idea of ever having a soulmate, that too was locked back in the far recesses of his mind, never to be touched again. Even though he'd told himself time and time again that the markings meant nothing, that he cared little for another human being and that he most certainly could live without ever having known about them, the sharp sting of predicted betrayal cut deep. Stung like salt in an open wound.

He'd tried to create the perfect circumstances for his soulmate to show up in, and this was what he had gotten for his efforts.

He was done with soulmates.

There were more important things to be done, like his future Horcruxes to focus on. Tom Riddle promised himself he'd never try searching for them again.

He did not care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, since I'm spending Valenines day lonely I figured I'd write some of this before going to town to look for cheap chocolates. Enjoy x


	3. The Other Reject

****  
  


It was from the burnt ashes, the charred husk of a girl, that Harry Potter was born. Hariel had been a dreamer, Hariel had been certain that she was the Cinderella, and that her Prince would be arriving with his strong arms and pretty words that would sweep her from her feet and into his waiting embrace. Hariel Potter had studied hard, determined to be the best possible person she could be for her soul mate.

Harry was none of these things.

Harry Potter was closed off from the world, she lived the remainder of her summer in solitude, in a quiet peace that regardless of its silence left the air around her dripping with icy hostility. Her brilliant jade eyes still shone with determination, but the whimsical twinkle was absent, had died a silent death. It'd been sudden and quick, with as many people to mourn its loss as one would a homeless tramp upon the foggy streets of London years past. It's disappearance was not noticed by anyone other than the one to have held it.

And even she cared little for it.

 

Instead her fingers worked through the pages of her new school books, through the worn tomes that had caught her interest during her only visit.

Harry Potter was not an unintelligent child by any means. She knew that Aunt Petunia would never have allowed her to go visit the wizarding alley again, not until she could no longer avoid it anyhow. So Harry had milked her trip with Hagrid for all it was worth.

Bookshop after bookshop had been visited, bargain bins rummaged through for any books or gadgets that caught her attention. Journals that to the unknowing eye were nothing more than whimsical musing but to Harry's keen vision, code for thoughts and in depth explanations of magic, were found and bought. Trinkets that sung with magic were thrown into her brand new, heavily warded and extendable trunk.

Anything and everything that caught her interest was collected for further study later on.

Hagrid had seemed exceedingly lost by her hoarding, but had followed after her with a confused smile and had been happy enough to lift the heavier objects into her trunk when Harry was unable to.

In regards to that trip, only two things really remained of the old Potter child within the new and improved version.

There were the marks on her arm, now carefully hidden with a skin tight glamour sleeve. A specific shop in Diagon was dedicated to the masking of soul marks, seeing as running around with the markings in view without having met one's soulmate, well, it was about as shameful as running around butt naked, if not more so.

The wizarding world saw the words upon skin as magic's intervention, and to deface a wizard's marking was punishable by five years in Azkaban.

So Hariel Potter had walked into that shop with her arm bandaged, and Harry Potter had walked out with what appeared to be a bare forearm.

 

There was just one other thing though, that drew her attention to what she would rather forget. Her wand. Holly, Phoenix Feather, it fit perfectly into the palm of her hand whenever she felt like gracing herself with its presence. But its brother, the thought of its brother, left her feeling weak at the knees even now, limbs shaking with anger and betrayal that really, she neither had the right, and then again, had every right to feel. No promises had been made to her with the words on her skin, but that didn't change the fact they remained there, that her wand was twinned with another that once again linked her back to the murderer of her parents.

Her stomach still had a tendency to flip at the thought of it, but Harry has gotten to the point where she could push past it now, could focus on what she wanted to get done. Before she had studied for her soulmate, but now, she studied for herself.

Harry Potter was going to be an independent girl, she was going to be someone who stood tall and proud, who made the most of her life and pushed onwards. She would be great, soulmate or no soulmate. And she was determined that it would remain no soulmate.

Just because her soulmate had fallen through, that didn't mean all that hard work she'd done had to follow after. She was going to be Harry Potter, and she was going to define herself by her own merit.

Not by the words on her skin.

 

* * *

 

 

The Hogwarts Express was a grand beast of a machine. The gleaming scarlet paint, the white wisps of steam that bloomed up and out of the coal black chimney, it was something straight from the pages of a story book that Harry had the pleasure of reading during primary school. It was clean, appeared freshly painted but who knew what you could do with magic at ones fingertips.

Even she, who had read so many books this past month, only had the slightly idea, the smallest notion, of what was now possible.

Already dressed in her Hogwarts robes, Harry made her way over to the train, ducking around the teary eye parents and exasperated children they clung to.

Finding the platform had been easy, a case of simple observation. She'd stood back and watched, watched as the wizard and witches -and by god, didn't they stand out in a muggle crowd?- made their way through the throngs of Londoners to the entrance to Platform Nine and Three Quarters.

Harry had slipped after them with the practised ease of one who was used to moving about in the shadows, to not being seen. She'd weaved through the crowds, footsteps carefully measured to seem neither too fast or slow, to ooze with confidence as she made her way forwards.

She was no longer the troubled niece that was ruthlessly taking advantage of her relatives, not to the people watching her now.

Here, she was a hero, forcibly placed upon a golden pedestal that left her the centre of adoration or the epicentre of hatred, depending upon with side of the war one had taken part in. Either way, she was a target, to the masses, to the government and to the reporters.

They'd all be waiting for her to fall, waiting for a mistake. No one knew how she'd survived the killing curse, no one knew if she did hold some kind of awesome power that would spring into being to act as her defence.

Being the vanquisher of a Dark Lord had left her with public adoration too, which when added to her title as Heiress to the Noble and Ancient House of Potter, meant that she had a great deal of political power that she could potentially tap into. Those currently in power would watch her, just because of that potential, regardless of if she showed inclination to use it or not.

People would want to use her, and she needed to make it clear that such a thing would most certainly not be happening. She could not afford any weakness, not if she wished to remain her own person. Hariel had wanted to belong to a soulmate, but Harry Potter would belong to no one.

Perhaps it was a coping mechanism, to hide behind, to make sure she was never hurt again.

But if it worked, than Harry saw no reason to change it.

 

 

Climbing onto the train had been easy enough, smoothly making her way to a compartment and pulling open the door. Internally, she was somewhat startled to find it already occupied, even more so when she noticed that the bushy haired girl, first year judging by the height and frame, was in tears.

Big, heart-broken sobs wrecked her frame, thin shoulder shaking back and forth beneath her wild head of hair. Harry debated for a moment, playing with her need for a good friend, just one good friend for the rest of her schooling, and pitting it against her woeful lack of knowledge when it came to comforting a fellow human.

Yet, her course of action was already pre-chosen for her, it would seem, for when the brunette reached to rung her fingers along the bared skin of her left ankle, the script upon her ankle, and let out a pain wail, Harry knew she couldn't walk away.

Kicking the discarded shoe and sock that'd been thrown to the floor out of her way, Harry gave a smooth flick of her wand and then paid no more attention to her trunk as it slotted itself in the baggage holdings overhead.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

The girl's head snapped up to look at her, red rimmed, brown eyes giving a wobbly blink as two more tears escaped from the corners. Her lips quivered for a moment, and Harry grimaced, fully expecting the girl to break into more tears.

She held up a hand before the weeping girl could do just that, closing the cabin door behind her with a soft thump and willing her magic to stick the door to the frame so that they wouldn't be interrupted. As with every other time she'd asked something of it, the power in her body throbbed, not quite bending to her will but instead agreeing to it, excitedly flooding outwards in order to complete her requests.

"Let me guess, the soulmate, threw you away. Said you weren't good enough or something."

She'd seen the purebloods that her 'introduction to the magical world' spoke of, she could guess how they would react to being bonded with a muggleborn as this girl obviously was. It was clear from the clothes, worn jeans and a pleasant blouse that Harry had always admired in the shop windows but never been allowed to try on, let alone as Petunia to buy it for her.

"Ye-yes," the girl wobbled out, lips still quivering.

Summoning up whatever courage and kindness that was still housed it her body, Harry knelt before the girl, placing a hand on her shoulder, tilting the girl's head to get a better look at her. If the big teeth were shrunk, the hair straightened out and the eyebrows plucked -not that Harry could say much on the whole hair and eyebrow thing, considering she hadn't fixed her own yet- then this muggleborn would end up quite the looker.

Perhaps it was because of their similar situations, perhaps it was because she'd not yet had anyone to talk about it with anyone she could trust, but regardless of the reason Harry allowed her heart to open ever so slightly. To accept this girl who'd been hurt like she had, to want to make her understand.

"My soulmate's never going to accept me either. Trust me when I say you can live without them. I used to live for my words, but now, I live for me. I'm going to become the greatest witch ever, I'm going to learn everything because the words on my skin do not define me. And they'd don't have to define you either."

 

 

_"Hogwart's too?"_

_"Oh yes! I'm ever so excited!"_

_"Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."_

_"I'm Hermione Granger!"_

_"Granger? Never heard of that family before."_

_"I'm the first witch in my family, so it was a big shock when I got my letter-"_

_"No, it can't be you. Not a Mudblood! I won't accept it."_

Hermione Granger was the name of the crying brunette she'd stumbled across. She was bookish, in every sense of the word. Her appearance certainly leant towards that idea, what little of her personality that Harry had seen so far suggested the same thing. Hermione had told her, after the tears had tried and the hiccups subsided, all about her confrontation with Draco Malfoy.

Harry wanted to punch him in the nose.

But she'd been right about what she said to Hermione, to not let the brat she'd been lumped with define her, he was not worth her attention and thus if he was not worth Hermione's attention, then he was most certainly not worthy of Harry's.

Somehow, despite her severely lacking social skills and underdeveloped empathy, Harry had managed to provided the necessary comfort and companionship that Hermione had needed to get back on her feet, to hide the tears that'd previously been running down her face. She hadn't closed off completely like Harry had, but Harry hadn't had anyone who understood, who'd been able to comfort her.

Not like this.

"You- you're really going to just live for yourself?" Hermione asked, socks and shoes now back on and curled up on the worn bench, leaning against the wall of the compartment.

"I am. It's my life, and I don't see why the words on my skin should have any say in how I turn out. I can live a whole life without a soulmate. I'm sure of it."

"Does this make us friends?" Hermione spoke quietly, as if had she raised the volume of her voice the sentence would shatter the world around her. Harry could hear the desperation in the girl's words, the pitiful hope and nervous fear sung to her.

Because the same emotions had churned in her own stomach, coiled and cried out for her to voice her thoughts but had lodged in her throat.

"I don't know, I've never had a friend before. But I'd like to say yes."

It felt, like for the first time in years, something had finally come together just right in the world.

And for a moment, Harry wished that her words had been that stammered yes instead of the deadly spell she was stuck with.

 

 

Harry ignored all of the children around her, she ignored their bumbling graceless forms as they spoke with one another, jostling for position amongst the crowd.

Looking upwards, she noticed Hagrid approaching, and made sure to duck behind a reasonably tall ginger haired boy to remain out of sight. She'd rather go as unnoticed as possible, avoid the students around her until she had a good reading on their personalities and their motives. Anything could be said to her face when the speaker held a knife behind their back.

Harry was above all, cautious now.

She would not be getting hurt again. She would not be opening herself up to that, to give away a vulnerability, once again.

The boat ride through school was tense, considering both she and Hermione shared with a pair of persnickety looking females with their chins tilted in such a way their noses pointed to the sky. Neither offered their names, and Harry wasn't about to go out of her way and get them. She had no reason to respect any of her classmates right now, there had been no shows of great intelligence or power yet, no demanding displays of dominance. And she had no desperate need to talk to any of them.

Hermione was enough, Hermione was her friend now and she'd always pick quality over quantity.

She had no need for others.

 

 

The Great Hall was a magnificent sight to behold. The charmed ceiling spoke of ancient magic, difficult enchantments interwoven over one another and held together by the masterful weaving in which they'd been created. She could almost feel the wisps of the Founders as she walked into the Great Hall, the smooth force that was magic curling around her very being.

The magic was beckoning in the new students, greeting each like a mother welcoming home a child. It was a promise of safety, of security that Harry doubted she could ever remember having felt. No doubt her mother's arms had been that way, but her mother was dead now. She was on her own, and while she would take whatever Hogwarts offered, she would not become dependent on it.

She would not become dependent upon anyone.

They were called forwards, one by one, sorted into the houses of Hogwarts. Harry had assessed each one with the information her books provided.

Her eyes narrowed at the visage of Draco Malfoy as he was called up, mentally calculating everything that she observed in regards to her new friend's supposed soulmate. Pale blond hair, pointed features and grey eyes. A delicate look about him, both in his face and build. He'd clearly not spent much time out and about, no physical work. And she could feel the arrogance that seemed to emit from him, an emotion that became almost blinding as he smirked at his placement. Slytherin.

It wasn't long until she would personally be called up too, and as Harry gave the boy who'd become her least favourite first year another glance, their eyes caught. Malfoy smirk grew for a second, but she could see the falter in his eyes. No doubt wondering what he'd done to have a fellow classmate  glare at him in such a way, with such violence.

Harry didn't care what he thought of her. Hermione was her's now, her friend to protect and care for, she'd be damned to an eternity in hell before allowing Malfoy anywhere near her.

"Potter, Hariel."

Grimacing slightly at the name she'd since left behind, Harry stepped forwards, ignoring the sudden hush of all those around her. She paid no attention to anyone other than to look over at the Gryffindor table, were a smiling Hermione sat. Looking at her bright face now, it was difficult to believe that she was the crying girl from the train. The sore red eyes were gone, the tears carefully wiped away and a smile now stretching across her lips.

The hat dropped on her head.

 

 

_"You could be great you know, it's all right here, in your head."_

_'I have two things in common with Voldemort already, I will not stand for a third thing.. That house, those who are loyal to him make up a good percentage of the population there. I would never get any peace, there would be a constant reminder of how fate has twisted by life to play to this awful pantomime that is my life. I refuse.'_

_"To abandon your dreams that you carried so long and make your own path, not only does that require ambition and cunning, but a great deal of bravery is required too. So if not Slytherin, then it has to be_ GRYFFINDOR!" The hat roared its final word and Harry Potter lifted its tattered form from her head.

Hermione beamed back at her, the house of red and gold was exploding into celebrations at having gotten the most famous witch of the century to count amongst them.

Harry would soon break their illusions of the perfect saviour. Harry Potter looked after only two things; herself and her only friend. She would be her own person, she would allow for no manipulation or for others to project their thoughts and fantasies upon her.

 

Perhaps it could even fill the void that seemed to have opened up in her chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, these pairings will happen eventually, but first, character development. This is my first time writing Draco/Hermione as well, so be kind please.


	4. A Lesson On Theft

Lessons were easy.

Magic had always been an instinct, had never failed to respond when she called upon it. It was based upon intent, if she wanted something to happen badly enough, if she willed it then it would become so. It was as simple as that, Harry couldn't understand why any of the other children were struggling with such a concept.

Vexing, was how she'd describe the classes she attended so far. It was almost insufferable, having to sit around and listen to over privileged, spoilt children whine about not instantly accessing the powers they'd otherwise been too lazy to truly exercise before. It was like watching Dudley's failed attempts at physical education all over again, watching a person perform something that, had they not been taking absolutely everything in their life for granted before today and had thus never lifted a finger, should have come as naturally as breathing.

The pure-bloods and the half-bloods, hell, even the vast majority of the muggleborns seemed to have been sucked into the idea that it was the stick of wood within their grasp that performed the magic, that their only choice in the matter was what spell came out of the tip. Ideals so wrong that it almost physically pained Harry to listen as the professors regurgitated everything that had been impressed upon them from a young age.

Worst of all, no one would listen to her the single time she spoke up to voice her own findings regarding magic. The Gryffindors had been devastated to learn that she wasn't the brave and friendly heroine that their society had made her image into.

Betrayed, apparently. That's what Hermione said they were feeling anyway, but Harry couldn't really see how betrayal could come from a trust that was based upon false information in the first place. She had never entrusted them with her personality, with her beliefs and dreams, so Harry had no idea how they dared to feel cheated out of their golden girl.

Some of them muttered beneath their breath that she was a Ravenclaw -or worse, a Slytherin- in disguise. Yet outside of the fairy-tale tower it was all smiles, because while she may not have been what they'd expected, what they had wanted, she was still The-Girl-Who-Lived. A Gryffindor, and that was a point of pride apparently.

It was only Hermione, her only friend that she would trust and fight for through thick and thin, that listened to her words as the other Gryffindors laughed. It was only Hermione who had the patience to listen to her as she explained the difference between wizarding magic and what Harry lovingly referred to as 'true magic'. The wizards had it all wrong, food could be created because it was just a different molecular structure, rearranging the molecules until it formed the correct pattern and them forcing in energy, forcing in magic, to make the substance required.

As the only one to listen, it was only Hermione that shared in her academic success. It was only Hermione who came somewhat close to her in the rankings, and when the Gryffindor boys and girls came to her, begging for help, Harry turned her nose up at them in a mockery of their own expression days before. Once bitten twice shy didn't apply here.

It was once bitten forever suspecting.

Harry would never offer her help again, not when she'd reached out first and been attacked, if only through words, in return. The marks on her skin were the ones to speak of blind and trusting intentions, of running headfirst into dreams of the future without a clear understanding of all around her. She'd seen what that'd done to both Hermione and herself, watched Hermione break down and could remember the burning of her own tears as her heart tore itself apart in her chest.

She would never trust blindly again, and having witnessed the Gryffindors' true colours when she had failed to live up to their expectations. She would never seek them out of her own freewill.

 

There were some that annoyed her on a personal level more than others.

A red head boy had insisted she was his soulmate and if only she would speak to him to confirm it most certainly fell into this category. When Harry had told him to go crawl back under whatever rock housed him, his face had gone as red as his hair. The boy didn't seem to understand that she was in no way whatsoever his soul mate, that she couldn't possibly be and that declaring it for the world to hear would not suddenly make that statement correct.

The girls that both Hermione and she shared their dormitories with were no better. They blathered on about their own soul marks, cooing and giggling over the words that'd yet to be whispered to them. What was perhaps worse was that had her own words been anything else, Harry would have been right over there with them. Smiling and hoping childishly that her own Prince Charming was still on his way to come and fetch her.

The other houses are little better, though Harry feels that her favourites are perhaps a handful of Hufflepuffs. The loyalty was a key factor in that, she supposed. It was something she wished she could experience, having a soul mate that would never turn their backs upon her, friends that would stand by her forever.

Regardless, she had Hermione. And Harry knew there were others rejected, others that had been thrown away so they formed their own relationships. They broke from the words or their skin and while it was never perfect, they were happy in those relationships. There had been an elderly couple down the street from Privet Drive, both of whom had lost their soul mate in the Second World War. They had found comfort and, eventually, love in each other.

So someday, in perhaps the most distant future, a future in which she could once again trust in humanity, Harry would find that out for herself.

 

* * *

 

 

It was during flying lessons that Harry found her second comrade. Neville Longbottom seemed pitiful in so many different ways. But the words on his arm that Harry had seen when the boy's wild magic fluctuated and loosened the charm covering the syntaxes, gave her an insight to the future. Harry had registered the words.

Neville's soul mate would ask for help regarding the Patronus charm. A tricky bit of magic if your name wasn't Harry Potter.

It was with some hesitancy that Harry allowed Neville to join both herself and Hermione, but she hadn't regretted as of yet. The boy was soft spoken, but beneath his gentle exterior lay a will of steel that was just waiting to be teased out.

Harry was not a bitter girl, not towards those who had done her no wrong. She hoped that Neville would find what had failed both Hermione and herself, that he would be truly happy with whatever young man or woman would speak those words on his skin. There had to be at least one of their trio that would go on to work well with those destined for them. The Patronus charm was light magic, so certainly Neville's intended was upon the same side the boy stood for.

Not like Hermione and Draco, who stood on opposing ends. Or like she, who'd never even gotten to think over her first meeting with her soulmate, because his first words were a murder attempt.

Regardless, her time at Hogwarts passed by slowly in some ways, and in others, it sped by. Harry became a legend of Gryffindor when she took down an invading troll during the Halloween feast before professor Quirrell could even alert the lot of them to its presence.

When asked what she was doing wondering the halls while the feast was in progress, Harry had been unable to help herself. She'd stared at them in complete incredulous amazement, unable to believe they had dared to voice such a question. In the tone of voice one would take whilst explaining to a particularly slow child, Harry had clearly stated that she felt no need to celebrate the day she was made an orphan. The day her soulmate tried to kill her.

Not that she spoke of the latter point, the first was enough for the staff's faces to whiten and allow their eyes to gleam with supposed sympathy.

Harry didn’t care. None had come up to her and offered condolences for her dead parents.

All they'd done was celebrate the defeat of the Dark Lord. Celebrated the day that had ruined every aspect of Harry's life, leaving her with a wreckage and not even the building block to begin reconstructing her world.

Everything she had, she'd worked hard for, suffered for.

She wasn't deaf. She could hear the other students whispering how she was ungrateful, how she had everything she could ever want and didn't even both to be friendly with the rest of the lowly masses. She'd been place atop a pedestal, praised and worship with all her flaws and crack painted over. They saw a saviour, they didn't see the lonely orphan that'd been unloved by her only remaining family.

They didn't see the girl that had to crawl into bed knowing that there'd be no mother to tuck her in, no father to protect her from all the monsters the night brought.

They much preferred the perfection they'd built up from within the comfort of their own minds, and now they dared to be angry when she didn't fit their perfectly designed hero.

 

The year flew by fast, Harry ducking out of any social interactions that went beyond her friends. Hermione and Neville were hers now, and she would protect them as best she could.

She formed a tentative alliance with the Weasley twins, who hadn't so much as been interested in her title but more over what possibilities her abilities with magic opened up for them. Harry didn't have a problem working with the duo, especially after bargaining so that she would aid them in whatever misendeavours they had concocted in return to the secret of their success.

The Marauders Map.

It made sneaking around the castle so much easier, especially when she gained the invisibility cloak at Christmas.

Something hot and angry burned in her chest upon learning that someone had been holding on to this piece of her father, the only piece she had, and had only seen fit to return it as a Christmas gift. As if they were doing her a favour. She should have been given this years ago, it should not have been withheld from her.

Harry was vicious in her protection of the cloak, having bound Lavender Brown to the ceiling of the Great Hall when the girl dared to taunt her over it. So what if Harry slept with the cloak, imagining the fluid silvery material that wrapped around her form was in fact a paternal hug? The ditzy blonde shouldn't have shouted it out to the common room that she slept with a baby blanket.

Harry normally couldn't careless, but she'd heard whispers that some were planning to steal it, to rile her up. And that was unacceptable.

Luckily, the would be bullies understood the implications that came with Lavender's situation and left her well alone.

 

Now though, sat up the Gryffindor table as the end of term feast was held, Harry met Dumbledore's gaze fearlessly.

Under his weighty stare, she felt as if she'd failed some form of life defining test, like she had not only failed to jump through the required hoops but completely ignored the obstacle course all together. Something the aged headmaster clearly wasn't happy with.

Harry let her gaze drift towards the empty seat at the table, taking note of the distinct lack of Professor Quirrell. Apparently he'd attempted to steal something of grave important, but had been unable to crack the code before Dumbledore had arrived at the scene and forced the thief to flee. No word had been said on what the professor had been trying to steal, nor the motive behind his attempted theft.

 Harry didn't like it, didn't like begin kept in the dark like this. She could make several guesses, astute guesses, but she had no surety. Hermione and Neville considered the case closed though, so Harry sought to not bring it up with either of her friends.

Instead, she concluded that it would be something she could work on over the summer. Having bought a three compartment trunk, one of those compartments containing what amounted to a small flat warded to the high heavens, the Gryffindor planned on experimenting with her magic and thoughts within it's safe walls over the holiday.

 

So it was with several questions in her mind and a fist sized red stone in the bottom of her trunk, that Harry Potter returned to Privet Drive for the next three months.


	5. The Summer of Speculations

Ponytail of coal black hair whipping from side to side with every step she took, Harry Potter let out a harsh breath as she turned the corner onto Privet Drive. It'd been two weeks since she'd returned home from Hogwarts, and she used the term 'home' loosely.

She certainly didn't consider the place home, more of a side quest, an unavoidably pit stop between the key moments of her life. A normality that was forced upon her because she lacked any other place to rest. Certainly not something as comfortable, as friendly, as what the term 'home' implied. Letting out a jagged breath, Harry hunched over, hands on her knees and inhaling sharply.

For years she'd been running, mainly from Dudley in the physical aspect. She'd also spent the past year or so running from her thoughts, running away from the implications that her soul mate was a Dark Lord, a man who had attempted to murder her.

Always running, it seemed.

Grimacing, Harry wove her fingers together before angling them back, stretching out her back as she righted herself. The muscles in her abdominal whined slightly in protest, but other than that, she was perfectly content to head back inside.

Walking up the pathway to the front door, Harry tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, musing over how she would be spending the rest of her summer.

She had two whole months of free time to spend on her own academic pursuits, two months to dedicate solely to herself. No need to jump through hoops and complete homework -seeing as that was already done- no need to duck out and away from social obligation that her housemates seemed to believe she was duty-bound to attend.

No, just two months that belonged to her in everything.

With the Dursleys too terrified of her obvious ability to use magic, even if she could only perform such acts within the confines of her heavily warded trunk, it meant nothing was holding Harry back over this holiday period.

Grinning to herself, Harry unlocked the front door, stepping inside and sliding off her running shoes. In one smooth movement, she kicked them upwards, catching them expertly before making her way up to her room.

Time for some experimentation.

 

 

 

 

Drawing her wand slowly across the surface of the Philosophers Stone, Harry watched with belated interest as golden sparks spluttered out at the point of contact.

It was the first time she'd gotten the stone out of the secret compartment within her trunk, the first time she's weighed its weight between both her hands and just stared into its gleaming red surface.

It was blatant curiosity that had seen her exploring the Third Floor corridor. The idea of something being off limits, something she was unable to explore, called to her. That Dumbledore, the man who insisted she remain with the Dursleys despite the fact there was no feelings lost between anyone of them, had declare it out of bounds was just the icing on the cake.

If she were to attempt describing her foray through the Third Floor corridor, the best she would be able to come up with was a comparison to a leaf in the wind. There had been some backtracking, never quite moving in a straight line, but never once halting her movement either. In the end, she'd managed to retrieve the prize and, had she been at this stage a year past, would have assumed it was nothing more than a pretty stone.

Now though, now that there was an undertone, a secret message and meaning to every tin that occurred in her life, Harry had not been so quick to dismiss it. Praise the high heavens for a higher level of thought, otherwise she'd have ended up abandoning The Philosophers Stone.

And yes, it all deserved capitals. The discovers she could make...

Unable to help the smile that stretched across her face, Harry placed her wand upon the table she was working on, gathering the shards of golden sparks in a dustpan, ripping them into the glass jar nearby.

The Goblins would be discreet, that much she knew for sure. She'd promise not to crash the economy by instantly flooding it with far too much gold, and the goblins would let her slide by. If she just so happened to slip them some little golden bars, then who were they to mention it to anyone?

Lips tilting upwards in a smirk, Harry reached out with one fingertip, running it down the sharp faces of the stone.

Magic brushed up against her own, locked tightly inside that little stone and constant churning, replenishing itself. It was a volcano of power, appearing dormant on the surface but beneath, beneath there was a bubbling energy roaring, coiled up inside and ready to break free at any moment. With the slightest push from her own magic, unlimited possibilities sat upon her desk.

Harry fell just a little bit in love.

 

 

 

 

Spending as much time as she had within the safe confines of her trunk, her heavily warded trunk, Harry did not get to witness their visitor.

The Dursleys however, did.

It wasn't until she surfaced in the early hours of the morning did Harry get to witness the wreckage that'd been wrought within her room. The nightstand was overturned, the third-hand bed the Dursleys had begrudgingly provided was laying pitifully upon its side and the window on the eastern wall was broken, a hole that looked suspiciously like Vernon had put one of his golf clubs right through it in a the midst of a roaring temper.

Well aware that she would be unable to stay here, for when the Dursleys awakened, she was sure to be attributed to the cause of destruction, Harry slapped the top of her trunk down, letting out an aggressive sigh.

There always seemed to be something that would get in the way of her desire to remain unbothered, be it a troll on Halloween night or an elaborate challenge created by a man with questionable intentions towards her wellbeing.

She didn't care to stick around and find the source of the current mayhem. With the Dursleys being the unreasonable creatures that they were, there was no doubt in her mind that peace would be none existent come morning. Pondering on all the things she'd learnt regarding the Wizarding world and its transportation, Harry began making her way down the stairs, uncaring of the trunk that struck each wooden step with a vengeance.

The bellow of her uncle awakening was inconsequential, seeing as she'd be out the door and at the roadside before he'd even gathered his bearings. Pulling up at the end of the pavement, Harry held her wand aloft, jumping despite her anticipation as the Knight Bus arrived with a thunderous bang.

"The Leaky Cauldron please."

 

 

 

 

Harry ended up spending only one day within the comforts of the Leaky Cauldron.

As it just so happened, Hermione and her parents spotted her sat up to one of the worn tables eating her breakfast, having come to Diagon Alley themselves to retrieve Hermione's school supplies.

Upon learning the reason why she was present in such a, questionable looking establishment, Mrs Granger had all but insisted the green eyed student accompany them home, to spend the rest of her summer holiday there.

A stranger to familiar affection, Harry had spent most of the car ride sat back, watching the interaction between Hermione's parents and trying to puzzle out their relationship, having noted the matching soul marks they wore proudly upon their skin. Mrs Granger's wrapped around her ankle, visible through the skin coloured tights she wore with her skirt, while Mr Grangers wrapped around his bicep in thick, blocky words. Hermione had once told her that her own parents had met while studying for their A levels. They had, perhaps appropriately, been debating the ideals of romanticism in literature.

At one point, Mr Granger seemed to notice her gaze upon his arm, because he grinned cheerfully, unbuckling the seatbelt he'd been wearing.

"Looking forwards to meeting your soul mate the young lady?"

Beside her, Hermione cringed. Harry didn't have to be a Legilimency to know that her bushy haired best friend had failed to impart the knowledge upon her parents that she knew who her soul mate was. And that he was a complete washout not worth her time.

"I'm afraid I fall into that enviable category of those with a highly unsuitable soul mates Mr Granger, it's something of a tender topic I'm afraid."

The man copied his daughter in cringing, but Harry just offered up a disarming smile, well aware of the tempest that was raging within her stomach. It wasn't the fault of Hermione's parents that others were lucky enough to have a decent soul mate. It wasn't their fault they'd so unknowingly dipped her festering wound into a bucket of salt, leaving her to burn with jealously. And she wouldn't let them know how she felt either.

Little Princess Hariel was long gone, her dreams dashed and buried in an unlabeled box to never be opened again.

Now there was just Harry, who would make her own way, her own life, and would never have to rely on the idea of a soul mate again.

Still, the ideal of marriage, of settling down seemed to still persist within the deep dark depths of her mind, within crevasses and canyons way below the ocean's surface that she dare not venture to just quite yet. Her deeper thoughts were not to be touched yet, she refused to face them until she had complete mental stability in conscious part of her mind.

Until such a time, she would leave the unconscious untouched. After all, that was what the Occlumency book recommended.

So for now, she would leave all those thoughts to rest.

 

 

 

 

Magic, Harry had concluded, was a sentient being.

After two months of research, she was reasonably sure of her conclusion. Ever since arriving at Hermione's house, the dark haired Potter had been lying awake at night, attempting to summon up a bought of wandless magic, encouraged by the memories of her accidental magic as a child. Surely there had been a time in years long gone past, in a time where wands were nothing more than a dream, in which witches and wizards had used their magic without such a foci. What was stopping them from doing such a thing?

For several days, Harry had tried forcing her magic out of her arm, out of her fingertips to make it twist and turn around and complete whatever task she asked of it.

And every day she was met with failure.

Until the night before her birthday, in which she'd laid awake, staring up at the ceiling and recalling the day Petunia had said she was taking her to a cosmetologist to remove her mark. She could remember the absolute fury, the sheer incredulity that this woman dared to try and take such a precious thing from her. Her magic had been in complete agreement, stoking her rage and letting it burn to new heights, a combustion of energy the likes of which she'd never reacted before.

Both she and her magic had been in complete agreement, there had been no rife between them at all as they decided that Petunia had to be stopped.

During her research on soul mates -and oh, how Harry had researched- she had read many a theory that magic was linked deeper to the soul mate, that the soul mate meant far more to one with magic than it did to a muggle.

So perhaps, she didn't need to so much as force her magic, as to let it simply be. To work together. Instead of attempting to force a handful of jelly into a thimble and having to deal with the disappointing lack of results -and in some cases, messy explosions that came about- Harry merely allowed her magic to just flow, mentally asking for the book on her lap to just levitate the slightest bit.

To her absolute shock and everlasting joy, there was a moment of peace, before the book began to steadily rise. Within her, the energy seemed to almost purr in pleasure.

It was as if all the planets had aligned, the last jigsaw piece had fallen into place and the picture was complete. This was how things were suppose to be, how things were suppose to have always been. Her magic was not something to be controlled.

It was an energy, a force that laid to rest within her and was suppose to be worked with, not controlled. Her mind and magic were two interlocking systems, different forces that had always meant to work with one another. Like the multitude of muscles within her arm, working together to ensure that she could eventually lift her arm. It was the best comparison she could come up with in such a short amount of time, but everything felt so right.

Quickly scribbling down her discoveries, and reverently praying that she would be able to read her own handwriting come the morning light, Harry rolled over and pressed her face down into the plush pillow she'd been given.

Finally it seemed like she was accomplishing something within her life right now, everything was going perfectly well right now.

 

 

 

"The Park?" Harry repeated dully, watching her bookworm friend scowl at her tone. In fact, her bushy hair seemed to expand with her indignation, looking all for one like a peacock defending its territory. Or a Gryffindor defending their idea, Harry mused with a smirk.

Before her best friend could take the facial expression the wrong way, Harry smoothed her features down, creating a calm mask as she looked back at the muggleborn.

"Why the park Hermione?"

Burnt umber eyes rolled skywards, almost as if she were praying for patience, before Hermione's soft hand closed around her own wrist.

"It'll be fun Harry. I've never been to the park with a friend before."

Scoffing but secretly feeling warmth spread about behind her ribs, Harry followed after the girl, admiring the thin material bracelets upon her wrist that Hermione had made her. Friendship bracelets, apparently. Harry had heard of them, but having never really experienced something as entrancingly quaint as friendship during her time at muggle school, she'd never had the experience of making or receiving one. Nor had she any real experience on what to do regarding a sleepover, or having her friend's mother take her out shopping.

Harry had been foresighted enough to exchange a reasonably amount of galleons into pounds during her trip into Diagon Alley, and as such was able to purchase a great quantity of clothes to wear over the next year or so. Right now she was in a pair of ripped denim shorts, perfect for the summer heat, with a lightweight, carefully patterned scarf acting as a decorative belt. Coupled with the white tank top and sandals, she felt like an actually teenaged girl for the first time in her life so far, following after Hermione in her floating honey coloured sundress.

It was as if they were simply two girls, two best friends who had nothing better to do with their days than to run around and play wild, to be nothing other than the average teenager that'd never actually met their soulmate. Only, they did without the wish wild dreams of future ambitions regarding their one true intended.

It was only as they were stood face to face, swaying back and forth atop the same plastic board that made up the swings, that Harry realized what was going on with her.

Before she'd only really had these fluttery feelings whenever she looked at the marks upon her arm, back when she'd had no idea what the syntaxes meant, been oblivious to their true sinister nature.

 

But now, as she looked at Hermione's glowing face, it wasn't hard to figure out that she was starting to develop, well, something towards her fellow witch.

While there were all different types of soulmates, the romantic ones in the muggle world were all of the male and female variety. If a muggle had a soulmate that was of the same gender, they were usually intended to be platonic soulmates, even if the potential to become something romantic was there. Mainly due to the issue of future offspring.

The Wizarding World didn't have that problem though, seeing as a selection of potions and spells could ensure a child born to what the religious muggles would otherwise dub an 'unnatural pairing'. There was no issue between same sex couples in the Wizarding World, even if they were still significantly lower in number than that of the typical male and female pairing.

All these thoughts ran through Harry's head as she stood there on that swing, hands clenched around the metal chain that was no doubt starting to leave imprints within the delicate flesh of her palms.

Hermione too seemed to be coming out of some kind of daze, because she blinked slowly, the lightest scattering of dusky pink blooming across her cheeks.

"We should probably head home, Mum might get worried," the bushy haired girl mused, looking over at the setting sun. Considering it was still summer, that had to mean it was nearing nine  o'clock, and Harry was more than happy to bow to Hermione's request.

Stepping back and down off the swing, Harry offered her best friend a grin, pushing down whatever feelings had been trying to surface during that moment. Feelings were confusing, and right now, they had no place within her world.

Harry refused to worry about them, she'd deal with them later, when she had time to think over all that was running through her mind. Right now, she was just going to be Hermione's best friend, and Hermione would be hers.

That was all it would be, Harry did not need more in this moment, and neither did Hermione. They were both reeling from the disaster that had been the soulmates, there was no need to add more to that plate.

Not yet anyway.


	6. A Series of Odd Happenings

**_Dear Diary,_ **

**_I found you in my cauldron after coming back from Diagon Alley. I don't know if I stole you -I didn't mean to, I really didn't! I didn't put you in my cauldron, I swear- but it will be nice to have something to write in. All my brothers are nosy snots, but Mum always tells them off for it. They deserve it._ **

**_R_** **_on's the biggest idiot of them all! The twins say he's still going on about being Hariel Potter's soul mate! Which is stupid, because she doesn't have his words and he doesn't have hers! Part of me really wants her words to me mine; that'd be wonderful. Me, the Soul mate of the Girl-Who-Lived! I guess I'll find out in a week anyway, that's when I leave for Hogwarts!_ **

**_I hope I get into Gryffindor, that's where all of my family are. And it's where Hariel Potter is! Even if we're not soul mates, I hope we can be friends. I hear she's really pretty. I'll probably look plain next to her, but she's gonna be real nice. All heroes are, and she's the greatest one of all. The Girl-Who-Lived, the baby who killed the Dark Lord..._ **

 

_The Girl-Who-Lived?_

 

* * *

 

 

Waking up in the early hours on the 1st of September was no surprise for Harry Potter. Neither was it that for the first five minutes she sat there in the spare bedroom that Hermione and family had graciously offered up, staring at the nothingness before her.

With barely a thought towards it, Harry ran her fingers along the tender flesh of her inner arm, tracing over the invisible markings that rested there. The dream, her dream, had been odd. A distinctively male voice had been calling out to her, but the worlds were blurred, mumbled up and completely indecipherable. As if it were a tangled thorn brush, she'd been unable to separate each individual strand from one another, so interwoven they'd become. It'd left her completely baffled upon awakening, especially because she couldn't quite put a name or face to the vocals she'd just been hearing.

Before she'd have just written it all off as a production of her mind, but in the Wizarding World, dreams meant something of important. It was magic's way of offering a warning, or a predication in times of approaching distress.

Harry wasn't about to go ignoring that now.

But what this forewarning was centred around, she didn't have the slightest of clues.

Letting out a low sigh, Harry pressed her forehead into her knees, a muffled whimper escaping her lips upon realizing exactly what her hand was doing and tearing it away from her wrist as if it had instead been far too close to a rabid kneazle.

Scowling down at the offending appendage, Harry pressed the knuckles of her right hand into her skull, trying to banish the headache that was threatening to break out.

Today was going to be a trying day, that much was obvious.

 

It began upon reaching Kings Cross Station. Since escaping the clutches of sleep, Harry had managed to accomplish her morning run, gotten everything important packed within her trunk and even had time to aid Mrs Granger with making both herself and Hermione a packed lunch for the trip.

Feeling decidedly awkward as Hermione said goodbye to her parents, Harry had approached the barrier to Kings Cross, walking steadily towards it with her trunk dragging behind her.

And ended up walking face first into the brick.

Stumbling backwards, Harry squatted, holding the toe of her boot between her fingers in the hopes it'd stop throbbing. It'd been the first part of her body to strike the wall, and it hurt the most. She'd at least been able to lessen the speed the rest of her body had approached the wall at thanks to its noble sacrifice.

"Potter? You okay?"

"Obviously not."

Harry blinked at the hand that was suddenly visible, having intruded within her personal space. She followed pale skin of the wrist up to a dark mustard sleeve before coming face to face with a male perhaps two years older than her. A black and yellow tie poked out from around the neckline of his jumper, Hufflepuff for sure.

Suspicious, Harry placed her hand within the male's, allowing him to pull her up to her feet. His hand was warm, slightly rough and not just from handling a wand. A Quidditch player then?

"Did you just walk into the barrier?" He asked, reaching out and rapping the knuckles of his free hand against the brick surface, grey eyes narrowed when they met very solid matter.

"Ah, this could be a problem."

 

By the time the Hogwarts staff had managed to fix whatever problem had been cause by the barrier, it was half past eleven and there was a rather large gathering of Hogwarts children stranded in the muggle side of Kings Cross Station. The Muggles seemed exceedingly confused why there were children with owls and cats sat around when they clearly had no intention of getting on a train, but thanks to a handy bit of magic, nobody asked any questions.

It was right now that Harry found herself sat up to a café table with Hermione, the male Hufflepuff -Cedric, his name was Cedric Diggory- sat across from them. She wasn't quite sure why he was there, only that he'd wormed his way into their company and seemed quite pleased with himself for it.

Not in a smug, sly way. Just pleasant.

Harry had always been suspicious of people's intentions, of the cruel twists fate and her fellow humans could throw at her.

But it had been an hour, and not once had the sincerity in his eyes dropped a bit. He was just that nice.

Frowning behind the rim of her tea-cup, Harry conceded to the fact it appeared another male would be joining their little group. Longbottom was a friend, and it seemed Diggory was going to end up one too. Well, she had a friend in another house now, had two friends, and then she had Hermione. She was done with making any more connections now, she had three. That was more than enough.

"Well, Hermione and Harry, looking forwards to your second year then?" He'd adjusted quickly to calling her by the nickname, had instantly noticed her obvious disdain for regarding her given name the second his father had called her by it.

And while he'd seemed confused over it, Diggory had never the less gone along with her unspoken request.

"I'm going to look for a room to practice duelling in."

Wide grey eyes stared at her for a second before the Hufflepuff forcefully blinked, a grin spreading across his face.

"Sounds good, can I join you? Merlin knows last year's DADA was useless," he paused, looking slyly around before sharing a conspiratorial wink with the both of them, "and I don't hold much hope out for Lockhart."

"His books were riddled with inconsistencies," Harry snapped in quickly before Hermione could get started, watching as her bushy haired friend pouted beside her.

The muggleborn had formed something resembling admiration for their new DADA professor, until they had both sat down and actually read the books. So much hadn't added up that, in the end, Harry had ended up asking for a selection of Defence books to buy from Diagon and gone wild.

So her trunk was a little full right now.

At least she wouldn't be failing anything.

"Yeah," Diggory murmured, looking between the two of them with serious consideration on his face before he grinned, "let's share a compartment on the train. I could tell you what I learnt about last year, it's always good to be ahead, or in my case, recap things."

Though she wasn't quite sure how it'd happened, Harry had end up gaining another friend with an ease that startled her. That didn't mean she was going to relax around him though.

Not yet anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

**_There's something wrong Tom, the barrier to Kings Cross isn't working. What if I don't get to go to Hogwarts now?_ **

 

_I highly doubt that such a minor, ill-timed fluctuation would stop the Professors from getting students to Hogwarts. There are other students unable to pass through, correct?_

 

**_Yes, there's got to be at least a hundred of us. It's a bit cramped really. Mom's making me wait with all of my family, so I can't really start making friends. But, I think I can see Hariel Potter from here!_ **

 

_Oh?_

 

**_Yeah, she's with another girl and a boy a bit older than her. The girl's got really bushy hair and her front teeth are pretty big. I think maybe I'm a bit prettier than her. But the boy's really handsome and he's smiling at her. He must have said something funny because the other girl is laughing but Hariel isn't._ **

 

_And Hariel? What about her? What do you see Ginny?_

**_She… She's not frowning, but she's not smiling either. It's kinda like, she doesn't care. The books were right about the scar, it's just above her left eyebrow, but I can barely see it. She's got really dark hair and a fringe that covers her forehead._ **

_And magically? Ginny, can you see what she's like magically?_

**_Her spoon is stirring her tea on its own! That's underaged magic though! Shouldn't she be getting expelled?!_ **

_…Not if it's wandless Ginny. Not if it's wandless…_

 

* * *

 

 

Things didn't improve much from there. Though they managed to get the barrier working once again, the Hogwarts Express only got three miles out of the station before it suddenly came to a screeching halt.

Harry, who had been nose deep in her theories and musing on the Patronus Charm and it's possible improvements, was sent flying from her seat. She hit the floor with a thump, elbow jarring at the sudden impact and notes sprawling out all around her.

Pushing herself up into a sitting position, Harry frowned, accepting her papers -collected by a wave of Diggory's wand- with a nod of thanks.

"What is going on? There wasn't a problem with the Express last year."

Hermione's frown was mutinous, her arms folded across her chest and looking very much like a petulant child. An odd fondness flare within Harry's chest at the sight but she pushed it back, instead focusing on Diggory's response.

"It's never had any problems while I've been a student either. I'll go find a prefect and see what's going on." The older magical got to his feet, disappearing from the compartment room at the same time Neville Longbottom appeared.

"Oh! Harry, Hermione! I'm glad I found you. I need some help…"

 

Neville's Potions essay was swiftly completed between the four of them, -Diggory proving to be a rather adapt mind- and once the train was moving again, all was going smoothly. They even managed to make it into the Great Hall without any more strange happenings.

Following after Hermione, Harry offered Diggory a wave goodbye, because he was polite enough company and both Hermione and Neville liked him. Hell, she could tolerate him, which was practically a 'like' in anyone else's book.

Running a hand through her hair, Harry sat herself down between Neville and Hermione, offering the Weasley twins a tense nod as she did so. Their younger sibling, Ron, was a menace.

But Harry could appreciate the artful brilliance that was the Weasley twins. With their reckless creativity and outrageous, devil-may-care attitude, they effectively pulled in the vast majority of Hogwarts' attention. Thus keeping it off her.

That, and they seemed far too busy plotting whatever magical madness they were going to come up with next to bother her about this or that. In fact, they only time they'd approached her at all was to see if she could help them turn everything in Snape's office into carrot cake.

If she just so happened to create a brand new spell with the aid of her 'strange' magic, just to get back at the teacher who seemed to hate her without reason, then so be it.

Turning to the newest Gryffindor that was approaching their table, Harry suppressed the urge to wrap her hair around her neck and strangle herself. Because damn it, he had a camera and was looking straight at her.

Would they ever get the damn message?

 

* * *

 

 

**_Tom, she was really mean! I went over and said hi and that I was Ron's sister and she sneered at me. Ron's ruined everything, she'll never want to be my friend now._ **

 

_It's quite alright Ginny, you'll just need to prove you are cut from a different cloth than your brother._

 

**_What does that mean?_ **

 

Impatience, one of the few emotions that'd been steadily growing strong as this went on, surged.

 

_It means you have to show her that you are nothing like your brother. What does The Girl-Who-Lived seemed to value? Look at the people who she surrounds herself with, what qualities do they share, what does she respect about them? Once you have that answer, you just need to highlight that feature within yourself by adjusting your behaviour._

**_Okay. Thank you, Tom._ **

* * *

 

 

"Morning Harry?"

Looking up in a startled manner, Harry's brows furrowed upon noting that Cedric Diggory was indeed sat across from her. Up to the Gryffindor table. She wasn't the only one who seemed highly confused by this, because several other Gryffindors were being pretty blatant in their staring at this oddity.

Teeth digging into her lower lip, Harry swallowed the mouthful of scrambled eggs before turning her attention to Gryffindor's sudden interloper.

"What are you doing Diggory?" Harry watched, not quite in dismay but perhaps a bit of awe at the sheer guts Diggory was displaying by sitting up to the table of lions, buttering his toast as if it were a completely normal day and nothing was wrong.

"Having some toast," he finally answered, reaching for the raspberry jam once he was done with the butter, "You do know you can call me Cedric, right?"

She wouldn't feel right calling him Cedric, not when she'd only known him a day. The grey eyed teenager just smiled at her, as if he could read the very thoughts running through her head and found them a completely acceptable thing to be thinking.

"Why are you here Diggory?"

At this, the Hufflepuff hummed, putting on a thoughtful look before smacking his lips together as his fingers clicked.

"Maybe because I just like your company." There was a lull in the conversation around them.

No doubt the Gryffindors were mentally asking themselves why Cedric Diggory, the popular, friendly Hufflepuff would want to volunteer to spend time around the least sociable, least likeable Gryffindor that there had ever been.

Ever.

Harry wasn't quite able to wrap her brain around it either, so instead settled for scooping more eggs onto her fork, only looking up thoughtfully at Diggory twice until Hermione and Neville appeared. Both had agreed to join her morning runs, but had wanted the first day of school free of such a commitment. Considering Harry had been up since six, she supposed she could see why.

Their heads of houses came by with schedules, Professor Sprout looking a bit stumped but happily awarding the four of them five points each for inter-house unity.

It wasn't until Diggory put his timetable down beside his empty breakfast plate that Harry realized what he'd been intending all along. He did seem to be taking this friendship thing he'd set his sights on quite seriously. Which was- well, nice, she supposed.

"So, I've got a free today after lunch?"

Glancing down at her own lesson plan, Harry dully realized that she too was free after lunch and found herself turning her gaze back up to the Hufflepuff in their midst.

"So have I."

"Then we can do look for a room to practice duelling in, right? I've heard a rumour about empty rooms on the fourth floor, but we can always ask the House Elves, see if they know anything."

Drumming the tips of her neatly trimmed fingernails upon the table top, Harry worried her lip between her teeth.

"I suppose that would be a good idea. Hermione, Neville?"

Her fellow Gryffindors paused, one halfway between taking a bite of his bacon sandwich and the other already colour coding her schedule.

"Er, yeah. Sounds good Harry."

With Hermione's shy nod of her blushing head proving her agreement with Neville's words, Harry stretched her arms above her head and climbed out from beneath the table.

"Well, I guess we'll see you at lunch then Diggory."

 

She did find Diggory at lunch, having had Herbology right after breakfast, in which she'd been forced to duck out from under Gildeory Lockhart's ever fame-hungry gaze.

The Fourth Year Hufflepuff had already been forced to sit through a lesson with the glory hound and had come out bemoaning how terrible it really was. While it had appeared that DADA could get no worse after the disaster that was Quirrell, they had most certainly been proven wrong. Dumbledore was evidently scraping the bottom of the barrel right now, because Lockhart didn't have the slightest clue what he was talking about.

In fact, according to Diggory, he just seemed happy enough to waffle on endlessly about his favourite topic; himself.

Disgusted, Harry found she was still significantly irritated by the lack of real teaching in a very important subject as she followed the House Elf up to the Seventh Floor.

"Yous is walking here for the roomie, and the roomie be giving yous what yous need." The little creature chirped, squeaking in delight when Diggory offered it a polite thank you.

Now, Harry may have been standoffish towards all those in the Wizarding World that wanted to use her for her fame, or her connections, her magical power and her money, but these little House Elf creatures honestly didn't seem to care.

So, she offered her thanks, ignoring the fact the little thing looked like it wanted to faint.

Instead, she pushed open the door that Diggory had summoned with his pacing, letting out a low whistle as Hermione and Neville gasped behind her. Observing the room, which had books and a duelling platform and a warded 'free-for-all' fighting arena, Harry found herself grinning.

Yeah, she could work with this.

 


End file.
